Port.

You'll leave ^note your noise anon, ye rascals: do you take the court for Paris-garden ^note? ye rude slaves, leave your gaping.

[Within]

‘Good master ^note porter, I belong to the larder.’

Port.

Belong to the gallows, and be hanged, ye ^note rogue! Is this a place to roar ^note in? Fetch me a dozen crab-tree staves, and strong ones: these are but switches to 'em. ^note I'll scratch your heads: you must be seeing christenings? do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude rascals? ^note

Man.
Pray, sir, be patient: 'tis as much impossible—

Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons—
To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep
On May-day morning; which will never be:
We may as well ^note push against Powle's ^note as stir 'em.

Port.
How got they in, and be hang'd?

Man.
Alas, I know not; how gets the tide in?
As much as one sound cudgel of four foot—
You see the poor remainder—could distribute,
I made no spare, sir.

Port.
You did nothing, sir.

Man.
I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,
To mow 'em down before me: but if I spared any
That had a head to hit, either young or old,
He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,
Let me ne'er ^note hope to see a chine ^note again;
And that I would not for a cow ^note, God save her! ^note

[Within]
‘Do you hear, master ^note porter?’

Port.
I shall be with you presently, good master ^note puppy.
Keep the door close, sirrah.

Man.

What would you have me do?

Port.

What should you do, ^note but knock 'em down by the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door ^note! On my Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather, and all together.

Man.

The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now reign in's ^note nose; all that stand about him are under the

line, they need no other penance: that fire-drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times was his nose discharged against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece, to blow us ^note. There was a haberdasher's wife of small wit near him, that railed upon me till her pinked porringer fell ^note off her head, for kindling such a ^note combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once, and hit that woman, who cried out ‘Clubs!’ when I might see from far ^note some forty truncheoners ^note draw to her succour, which were the hope ^note o' ^note the Strand ^note, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made good my place: at length they came to the broomstaff to me ^note; I defied 'em still: when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles ^note, ^note that I was fain to draw mine honour in and let 'em win the work: the devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely.

Port.

These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but the tribulation ^note of Tower-hill, or the limbs ^note of Limehouse, their dear brothers ^note, are able to endure. I have some of 'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance these three days; besides the running banquet of two beadles that is to come. ^note

Cham.
Mercy o' me, what a ^note multitude are here!
They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,
As if we kept a fair here ^note. Where are these porters,
These lazy knaves? Ye have ^note made a fine ^note hand, fellows:

There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from the christening.

Port.
An't please ^note your honour,
We are but men; and what so many ^note may do,
Not being torn a-pieces ^note, we have done:
An army cannot rule 'em.

Cham.
As I live,
If the king blame me for't, I'll lay ye all
By the heels, and suddenly; and on your heads
Clap round fines for neglect: ye 're ^note lazy knaves;
And here ye lie baiting of bombards when
Ye should do service. Hark! the trumpets sound;
They're ^note come already from the christening:
Go, break among the press ^note, and find a way ^note out
To let the troop pass fairly, or I'll find
A Marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.

Port.
Make way there ^note for the princess.

Man.
You great fellow,
Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.

Port.
You i' the camlet ^note, get up o' ^note the rail;
I'll peck ^note you o'er the pales ^note else. [Exeunt.

^note

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